Home again, home again

Back in Seattle, but it was a hard landing: an 11-hour flight with crappy news at the beginning, and a story rejection upon arrival that felt like I was being told, "You missed all this obvious shit; what's wrong with you?" ::sigh:: Welcome back to the real world.

Will continue posting the trip chronicle over the next day or two, with pictures as they're available. At the moment? I feel like I've been beaten up. I'm tired and I kind of want to cry. I'm going to bed.

New York, Part 5: Friday--Passed From Hand to Hand

I caught an 11:05 AM train from Manhattan to Rockville Center (that's Long Island for those of you not from the area), where setsyoustraight picked me up. Our destination that morning was eastern Long Island to do some cemetery visiting. But first, we had to partake of a particularly Island tradition: a stop at a diner. Most places, people end up at Denny's. On Long Island, you always end up at a diner--I don't think there are any Denny's on Long Island, honestly. They're not needed. Diners fill this specific ecological niche but, generally speaking, the quality is higher (which isn't saying much, I know, but still . . .). We had lunch at the Sunrise Diner in Wantagh--I had a delicious feta-and cheese omelet. The experience is what my companion and I both wanted: the '50s-era paper place mats, the overly-chromed decor, the overlarge plastic cups for soda, the always-surprisingly decent food, being called "girls" by the waitress. It's hard to convey how much of an experience of home this is for me, but I have to believe that we all have those core experiences that define a place or a time that cannot be duplicated. Diners are one of those things for me.

We drove east about a half hour or so to Wellwood Ave., a street known locally as Cemetery Row, because the addresses there are, primarily, cemeteries or the businesses that support them. We stopped first at New Montefiore to visit setsyoustraight's sister S. I'd never gone there with her before, though I've heard about S ever since we met. The grave is a simple plaque in the ground. I left a stone at the site and left my friend to visit her sister in private. I was glad that the weather was mild and she could contemplate and visit in peace. We then went to Wellwood Cemetery to visit my parents. On the way, setsyoustraight fretted about not offering a Celtic blessing at her sister's site. We discussed her doing it for my folks. When we arrived, the site looked good, was well-maintained, and my mother and father's headstones each already had stones on them, a sign that others had visited. This was a gratifying discovery. I stood and talked with them a while and said some prayers. My friend made the blessing we discussed; she sings beautifully, and it was a lovely, mournful thing with nothing but the wind for accompaniment. I think my mother, especially, would have appreciated it.

setsyoustraight dropped me at the home of my oldest friend, BB, who has never lived anywhere but our hometown. I was sorry to let my friend go; I don't get to see her nearly enough and she was a tonic to me. Once she departed, I turned my attention to BB, who looked good but, I admit, I was a little surprised at how her age showed in her features. It was a sobering visit because though she is only four months older than me, she moves like someone much older than that. She has lived a very different life from mine and from those of my friends. She seems happy and certainly appears healthy. Her longtime partner, when he arrived later in the afternoon, had the same aspect--appearing older than his years, and moving that way as well. I was glad to see BB, and invited her to visit me--as I always do when we talk--though I'm pessimistic that she'll act on the offer. I think it would do her good. I'd certainly enjoy a visit.

Dinner became a kind of mini school reunion. I met a group of friends, many of whom I've reconnected with on Facebook, at La Piazza in Merrick. One side of the building was an Italian restaurant that was mobbed with families; the other side was a catering hall. There were seven of us at dinner including myself and BB. It turned out that one of our number, SSK, had become a pediatrician, and the reception she received at the restaurant was that of a local celebrity. I don't know how many of her clients greeted her before and during the meal. It was quite impressive. I had chicken marsala for dinner; the meal was delicious. It was fun to see so many people I knew growing up. I was particularly pleased that TJS, to whom I was especially close in high school and college, and his wife, were able to join us. He and I had some high times in school and after, and if anyone knows where some of my skeletons are buried, he does. It turned out that TJS and his wife live close to the venue where my brother was to be married, so I invited them to join us, at least for the ceremony, an invitation they quickly accepted.

After dinner, BB drove me east on the Island to East Setauket, where my brother Steve, his fiance Michele, and her daughter Valerie live. I don't think I could have been happier to see Steve. He was sturdy and slim and, still, the spitting image of my dad. Seen in the same room, we are unmistakably siblings (as a number of wedding guests commented later on Sunday). Michele was gorgeous, as always. She's a petite Italian beauty (really petite--4'11" tall) with short, chestnut hair, a slim figure, big brown eyes, and a wide smile. She was still tan from their pre-wedding honeymoon (long story) and the look suited her. Valerie was sweet, if shy, tiny for 7 years old, with wide, light brown eyes. The big adjustment of the evening came upon my arrival, when Michele told Valerie to "say hello to Aunt scarlettina." I've never been anyone's aunt before, but here I was, suddenly, with a step-niece, seven years old and not quite ready to embrace me. Steve, Michele, and I spent a lot time talking and catching up.

The next adjustment came when I gifted Michele with the necklace I made her in colors of pearl, gold, and touches of rusty red. She was very impressed and very excited, and immediately declared she would wear it for the wedding, something I could never have predicted. Of course, the accessories she had originally planned for were all silver--jewelry, shoes, and bag. This sudden change of palette meant that we would have to do a little shopping on Saturday.

And so the agenda was set. We hit the sack late, me sleeping in Valerie's astonishingly pink-bedecked bedroom, and she with her mom and step-dad-to-be.

This F*cking Plague

jaylake provides more specific details about yesterday's cancer news.

Five weeks ago, the wife of my brother's best friend, a woman I've known since high school, was diagnosed with ovarian cancer stage 4. She looked terrific at the wedding on Sunday. She is a fighter and she won't be taken down without doing everything she can to prevent, or at least delay, a fall.

I hate it, hate it, that they're having to go through this.

Both of these people are surrounded and supported by the most loving, awesome friends and family on the planet. They both have my love. I want them to survive and thrive.

Elisabeth Sladen

Actress Elisabeth Sladen was best known in her role as Sarah Jane, the fourth (and tenth) Doctor's courageous, plucky journalist companion on Doctor Who. The BBC is reporting that she has passed away--of cancer. I didn't encounter Sladen/Sarah Jane until her appearance in the new Doctor Who series, but said introduction provided an entry point into older Who episodes.

Thanks, Ms. Sladen, for creating a memorable, admirable character.

New York, Part 6: Saturday--Wedding prep

The day started out in a leisurely fashion, discussing the agenda for the day and the wedding. My brother and I walked the dog and caught up, just the two of us, which was a goodness. Then it was time for the planned bonding experience with my brother's fiance Michele and her daughter Valerie: a pre-wedding manicure and pedicure. Anyone who knows me knows I rarely indulge in mani-pedis, I mean really rarely. Michele and Valerie, on the other hand, are old hands at this ritual, and I got teased a little about being able to stand the extra-girlie activity. I knew that we'd be meeting Michele's sisters and nieces at the salon, but I had no idea what I was in for.

The day was gray and breezy, and much colder than any of us expected. When we arrived at the salon, we were greeted by Michele's sister and three young girls--her two daughters and the daughter of Michele's other sister, who couldn't join us after all. The eldest girl, blond and blue-eyed, who preferred to be called Catt but was called Catherine by the adults, came up to me and said brightly, "Hi Aunt Janna! Is that OK? Can I call you that?" How could I but acquiesce? And suddenly I had three more nieces than I'd had when I got up that morning. The next thing I knew, we were all consulting with each other about nail polish colors, and who was or wasn't going to get their toes done as well. It was a cheerful, crazy scene. Catt was especially excited when she heard I was a writer and wanted to read everything I've written. I will be . . . choosy about what I share with her for the moment.

Once we were polished and pampered (two days later, the skin on my hands still feels new), Michele, Valerie and I parted company with the others, went home, had lunch with Steve, and then headed out again to solve the shoe conundrum I'd created by giving Michele a necklace. I was impressed with her shopping-fu. She found shoes within 45 minutes of the start of the expedition, shoes she declared far superior to those she had originally chosen to wear.

Dinner that evening was to be a getting-to-know-you meal with Michele's parents, me, and my cousins Paul and Ellen. Ellen called that afternoon to let us know she'd come down with a stomach virus and that the weather in Raleigh was so bad that the airport was closed anyway; she wouldn't be coming to the wedding. Steve was very upset, and I was deeply disappointed. This was about as close to a family reunion as we've managed to make in years. Her absence was keenly felt.

Paul arrived at the appointed time. Michele's parents were late (as she predicted they would be). But the meal--a full kosher turkey feast--was a great success, and I found Michele's parents pleasant. Paul was engaging and lively, though signs of the recent loss of his wife were unmistakable. We probably ended the evening later than we should have given Sunday's planned early start, but it ended late for all the right reasons.

At some point during the evening, both Steve and Michele remarked on how Valerie had taken to me. She is typically shy of people and Michele has been working with her on her communication skills. I didn't have trouble with her. It seems that was remarkable in their experience.

I was glad for the opportunity to have quality time with everyone, because I knew that Sunday would be crazy busy.

New York, Saturday sidebar: Overwhelming

I knew that at some point, all the aggregated emotion of the weekend was going to catch up with me. I even noted it here at the time, fully expecting that I would have a meltdown but hoping that it wouldn't happen at a point when I couldn't really manage it.

It happened Saturday night after everyone left and I went up to bed. I walked into the room where I was staying, shut the door, and just kind of disintegrated. It was any number of things: visiting the cemetery, then seeing my brother, then finding myself with a nearly-instant family when I'd had so little before. Already the week had been full of high emotion--seeing old friends, visiting my beloved New York City--but this just put me over the top. To find myself so immediately and completed accepted so enthusiastically was just . . . amazing. Humbling. A little intimidating. I didn't have to prove anything or pass any test or . . . well, anything. I was just there, being Steve's sister, Paul's cousin, Michele's soon-to-be sister-in-law--being me.

I couldn't share it with Steve and Michele at that moment; they had enough on their plates, and were both exhausted. Instead, I wrote email, I Skyped with a friend, I got through it with loving help from members of my West Coast family. Even that was overwhelming, but in supportive ways. (Very meta, eh?)

The next day, when I talked about it a little with the best man's wife (whom I've known since high school), she--an Italian girl talking about Michele's Italian family--summarized it thusly: "What did you expect? When Italians go in, we go in big." I can't argue with that.

At dinner, in talking with the group about my West Coast circle, I talked about what a remarkable group of people I find myself surrounded by, and how much I love them. I said then that I know that I'm blessed, that I'm hugely fortunate in my chosen family. I'm constantly impressed by the people around me, those who have been here all along and, now, those who have just come along and opened their arms. What bounty I've been given. I never forget it, but I am constantly--and especially that night--amazed by it.